christina speaks

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One Big Happy Family

I’ll admit it - in the mornings, I’m a bit of a lollygagger. I’m supposed to be at work at 8, but this morning I just couldn’t bring myself to roll out of my comfy, cozy bed until 7:25, therefore missing the bus at 7:38. I was forced to take the bus at 7:48, but I’m so glad I did because I had pretty much the best bus driver in the world this morning.

When I was in college at Pitt, I used to love this one bus driver who drove the 71A. He was an elderly black man who wore Ray Charles-esque sunglasses and a gold lamé bowtie and annouced the main attractions at every bus stop we came to. “Next stop, Fifth and Bigelow - Cathedral of Learning, Soldiers and Sailors Memorial, William Pitt Union, Hillman Library.”

Well, this morning, my bus driver was doing the same thing. He wasn’t the same driver from my Oakland days - the guy today was a middle-aged white man with a goatee wearing a tan Port Authority polo shirt. I noticed it soon after I got on the bus - “Next stop, Liberty and Ella - Shur Save, Bloomfield Bridge Tavern, Del’s Restaurant” - but quickly became engrossed in the book I was reading and tuned him out.

Until we got close to Downtown, that is, and I put the book away and began really listening to the driver. “Folks, our next stop will be Liberty PAST 10th - Cultural District, David Lawrence Convention Center, Pennsylvania Culinary Institute. Now, when you get off the bus, please mind the traffic signals and cross the street ONLY when it’s safe to walk. Let’s be careful out there, folks, okay?”

We turned right at the Original Fish Market and he continued talking. “Once again, folks, the next stop is Liberty PAST 10th. I hope you have a great day and an even more terrific weekend. Weather’s ‘posed to be beautiful the next few days, and I hope you’re lucky enough to get out and enjoy it.”

He paused as we inched closer to the bus stop, then started up again. “Oh, and by the way, folks, I’ll be on vacation all next week, so don’t miss me too much! Ha ha! But I’ll be back again the week after that. See you all then. Next stop, Smithfield and 6th Avenue - Burlington Coat Factory, Mellon Square…”

I just loved it so much. He was sitting in his driver’s seat, rambling on about this city and all the things it offered. Part of what made it so awesome was his Pittsburgh accent - it wasn’t overwhelming, but you could definitely hear it in the lilt of his words, the “let’s be careful aht ‘air, folks” or “weather’s ‘posed to be beautiful.” Even though in DC the Metro was a smoother, nicer ride, I still prefer public transportation in Pittsburgh because of the personality of everyone involved in it - the passengers, the drivers. It’s as if everyone has collectively decided that, yeah, taking the bus is usually crappy, especially when it’s overcrowded during rush hour, but, hey, we’re here! Might as well make the best of it! Sometimes I think that could be the city of Pittsburgh’s logo: “We’re here, let’s make the best out of it.”

So, anyway, thank you, Mr. Bus Driver, for a very pleasant bus experience this morning. I hope I do see you again sometime after you get back from that vacation.

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Live and learn and then get a new job

The past three months, I’ve been working as a temp for a major Pittsburgh company. In a week and a half, I’ll be leaving this gig for a permanent position at a local non-profit. I interned at this organization when I was in college, and it was pretty much the best working experience of my life, so I’m psyched to be headed back there to do a bunch of crazy, awesome things.

I’ve realized that the for-profit world is not for me. I just can’t get excited about selling stuff or contributing in any way to the selling of stuff. I think I’m realizing as I grow up that I really desire a simple life, uncluttered by possessions and distractions. I truly don’t care about getting the latest iPod or a flat-screen TV or 6000 channels. I just want to live my life with my boyfriend, in the simple old house we’ll be moving into in a little less than a month. I want to write books. I want to spend my working hours trying to advance a cause I believe in. Eventually I want to have kids and play with them in the backyard and teach them how to play hopscotch and this weird game about colored eggs I played when I was a kid.

Last week, I read this article in the New York Times about equal parenting. There are a few references in that piece about women choosing lower-paying, more flexible jobs. And I’ve heard it over and over again in the media that women choose to work at non-profits, or in areas like social work where they’re never going to make much money. But why should I kill myself working long hours, destroying any semblance of a personal life or writing ambitions, to make tons of money at a company I don’t care about and which doesn’t care about me? I’ll take the flexibility and work environment of a non-profit any day over that horrendous situation.

I’m not saying that non-profits are the most amazing organizations ever thought up by humankind. There are plenty of problems with them. In DC, I only worked for non-profits (although the last one I worked for was practically corporate) and I definitely got a sense of feeling like nothing was changing, no matter what the organization tried to do. (That non-profit, though, was trying to fight a pretty big battle.) But they definitely offered more of the things that I personally look for in a job than this corporate job I’m working now – friendlier people, flexible schedules, and interesting work.

And, oh, I will not miss being a temp. No more being addressed by my boss as “Hey” because he still doesn’t know my name after three months. No more condescending conversations about whether it’s better to file things alphabetically or chronologically or by subject or a mixture of all three. (They’re magazines, people. Let it go.) No more hushed conversations by the woman in the cube next to mine alluding to the fact that they’re hiring for the position I’m filling right now. No more unpaid holiday time, no more paying for crappy short-term health insurance, no more telling my supervisor I’m heading to the ladies’ room so I don’t get the evil eye when I walk back to my desk after being gone for two minutes. No more teaching my boss, who’s surely making at least four times as much as me, about the very complicated intricacies of a shared drive.

I’ll miss the free lunches. But I’ll be okay leaving everything else behind.

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Storytime

Once upon a time, there lived a young woman who grew up in the Fireworks Capital of America and went to the City of Champions for college. In 2006, she moved with her boyfriend to Washington, DC, where she, a bright-eyed bushy-tailed college graduate, began working at a small nonprofit as a program assistant. Our heroine quickly learned that “program assistant” was code for “do endless mail merges using information from a database still running on Microsoft Access 1997 while your supervisor watches soccer games online all day” and that life in the nation’s capital was not nearly as exciting as The West Wing had made it out to be.

Undeterred, she found a new job and moved to a nicer neighborhood. The job was good. The neighborhood was charming. But she never quite warmed to her new city. She found that many of the people she met enjoyed talking only about how important they were working as interns in obscure House members’ offices, drafting legislation on horse slaughtering or mailing flags to constituents, and weren’t interested in talking to her once they realized they had nothing career-wise to gain from her. The hourlong commute got to her. The one hundred degree temperatures coupled with one hundred percent humidity every single August day wilted her. The studio condominiums selling at over three hundred thousand dollars shocked her. The general “just as soon spit on you as look at you” attitude of her fellow citizens dismayed her.

In short, she was unhappy. And her boyfriend was, too.

So they began looking for ways to get back to the fair city in which they met. They planned and schemed for several months, squirreling away savings, looking for jobs, thinking about the future. Soon, her boyfriend had a job offer in hand and they moved back to Pittsburgh during its most beautiful month: February. Amidst the slush and ice and blackened snow, they settled with their two cats into an apartment where the rent was less than half their rent in DC and they were happy.

Soon after this, they decided to get married. And soon after that, they applied for a mortgage and began seriously looking for a house. Three days ago, they made an offer on a lovely house in Greenfield that seemed as though it was built for them: great backyard, plenty of space, large kitchen, creative vibe. Two days ago, they learned that their offer was accepted. They laughed and hugged and talked about new paint colors for the bedrooms and generally felt very happy but also very strange at the idea of owning a house. Because that is something grown-ups do.

Nevertheless, they will hopefully soon be homeowners and spouses in the city that they love very dearly. Because sometimes dreams do come true. If you know what your dream is and you work very, very hard at achieving it, that is.

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Yes, I’d Like Some Cheese with this Whine

I’m up for a new phone through my Verizon new every two deal and honestly I’m underwhelmed. Currently I have your slightly-more-than-basic phone – it makes calls, has a camera and videorecorder, it’s always worked well for me. I don’t need VCast (I don’t even know what that means) and I’m not going to pay $100 a month just to get email on my phone. I am not that popular or important, Verizon Wireless. Thanks for reminding me. Nor am I loaded enough to drop over a thousand bucks a year, not counting the price of the phone, just so I can wade through all the action alert emails I get everyday urging me to call my senators. (And on that note – please. I signed up for email alerts because I dislike contacting my elected officials via the phone. If you want people to actually dial a number, have them sign up for a phone list or something. Just give me a freaking online form to fill out, mmkay?)

But is it too much to ask for the phones to be at least marginally exciting? I scroll through my list of available phones and basically I’m seeing the same design in either black or silver over and over again. I want something kind of quirky, not the basic phone I have now. Otherwise, why am I getting a new phone at all? I’m leaning toward the Samsung Juke, because it plays music and has a cool design and comes in teal, but I’ve read some bad reviews of it. Although I’m not usually very rough on my phone, so it might not be so bad for me…

Man, these first world problems suck, don’t they? UGH.

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90s VOTW: “Come to My Window,” Melissa Etheridge

How did I not post a 90s VOTW last week? GAWD. Sorry, folks.

Anyway, this video features Juliette Lewis as a mental patient. Pretty big stretch for her, I know. Ha! I’m totally joshing! Well, only like 80% joshing. I love Juliette Lewis.

Loving Mel’s denim button-up shirt with the sleeves cut off. Larry the Cable Guy totally stole his style from the fabulous Ms. E. And, yes, I’m duly ashamed that I know the kind of shirt that Larry the Cable Guy wears.

One thing I always loved about this song was the sheer intensity that Melissa sings with. I’ve sort of rediscoverd Melissa Etheridge in the past year or so, after my boyfriend and I watched “An Inconvenient Truth” at a free screening at the National Archives in DC and walked back to the Metro scream-singing this song and “I Want to Come Over” and “I’m the Only One.” I’m pretty sure that’s the lesson we were supposed to take from that movie - that Melissa Etheridge rocks pretty hard. Right?

Loving Juliette dancing with herself at the end of the vid. I dance with myself all the time. I also walk down the street, composing conversations in my brain entirely in French. Occasionally I’ll slip and say something out loud and people who are nearby give me somewhat concerned looks. Maybe I belong in the hospital, not Juliette… oh well. If it means I can color all over my room and jam to Melissa Etheridge all day, I’m totally in.

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Wool Coats in May

I’m beginning to wonder if dementors are breeding in Pittsburgh. I can hardly complain, since I moved back here at the end of February, when the ground begins to thaw and the slush somewhat subsides, from the mild winters of Washington, DC. (Seriously, if the air guessers even predict three inches of snow in the DC metro area, there’s a run on milk, bread and rock salt at every grocery store.)

But there’s something disconcerting about heading out for the day on May 19 and pulling on your winter wool coat, buttoning it up to the top button. By this time of the year, I feel like I shouldn’t be worried about making sure I have clean work socks, but I do. I’ve never been a big fan of spring, mostly due to the overabundant mud and the nauseating smell of freshly cut grass and the ricocheting temperatures (forty in the morning, seventy at noon makes me a cranky blogger), but I am so ready for this coldness to be done.

Andy Warhol’s over it, too.

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Is it just me

Or could

(Jordan Staal)

and

Martha Plimpton (you know, that one girl from The Goonies)

TOTALLY be brother and sister?

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I’m only doing this because I have to

Write this post, that is, since I agreed to this NaBloPoMo nonsense.

This weekend: beaucoup parties + a German-American couple and their one-year-old son = FUN TIMES.

See yinz later!

Comments (7)

Dear Celery,

Why are you so disgusting? Seriously. Also – why do you exist? You taste so bad, and your texture is so stringy, and you are a droopy shade of green. No one likes you. People pretend to like you but really they just eat you after they’ve drenched you in ranch dressing or blue cheese or because their mouths are on fire after eating wings and they’ll shove anything down their throats to stop the crying and screaming.

And why do you pop up in the most unexpected places, like the pasta salad I was eating as part of my lunch today? I was lucky enough to score a free lunch, and then you had to appear in my mouth with your gross taste and completely ruin those ten seconds of my life it took me to swig some Diet Pepsi and forget you had slipped past me in an attempt to – what? Make me like you? It’s been 24 years, Celery. I’m beyond a simple dislike or a “she’ll grow out of it” phase. I outright hate you. So if you don’t mind, quit appearing in my food and I’ll quit remembering that you exist.

XO,
Christina

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Drained

Things I did today:

• had a very insane and hectic day at the office
• went to happy hour with a dear old friend from high school
• came home and wrote a chapter of my book

Therefore, I am tired.

But here’s a picture of one of my cats!

He’s cute, look at him! Don’t mind me, curled up in the corner here … with the comfy bed … and the pillows … and …